Office Furniture
by Very Swampeh
Summary: Olivier Armstrong and Roy Mustang have a dispute over one very special piece of furniture. One-shot, spoilers for chapter 97.


**This was inspired by chapter 97 of the manga. It's nothing serious, but it would be amazing if this really did happen xD Enjoy the fun!**

**There's some OlivierxBuccaneer if you squint and tilt your head. **

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Finally.

Major General Olivier Armstrong couldn't help but smirk as she prowled down the halls of Central Headquarters. The few remaining soldiers seemed at a loss of what to do, and she really couldn't blame them. After all, they had just witnessed a takeover of an entire military base, fought alchemical atrocities, and watched the Furhur of their country killed on the steps of the base.

The general's boots clamped loudly on the floor as she strode to the large double doors at the end of the corridor. The doors were decorated with ornate handles and the crest of the military- the Fuhrer's office. Olivier's grin widened and she flicked a clump of bloodied hair out of her face. Despite the fact that she had one arm in a sling and probably looked like death warmed over, she had no doubt that she and her entourage were still an intimidating bunch.

Her brother, the Strong Arm Alchemist, flanked her left while a battle-weary Buccaneer guarded her right. The Homunculus who had killed Bradley (it was Greed, she thought. He had introduced himself, but the general had other things on her mind and hadn't really paid attention) and Falman brought up the rear. The rest of the Drachman soldiers were scattered about, all very proud and calm, but still on the alert. You didn't survive in Briggs if you weren't paying attention.

They reached the end of the hall and Olivier grasped the handle. She paused, reveling in the moment. How long had she waited for this moment? _Too long. And now it's mine! _She crowed mentally and with that thought, thrust open the door.

The sight that met her eyes was something that would make Major General Armstrong's blood boil until her dying day.

In front of the large picture window were the Fuhrer's ornate chair and desk, and dancing right on top that desk was-

"_ROY MUSTANG!!_"

Her screech of fury went unheard as Colonel Roy Mustang continued his victory dance upon the polished wooden surface. "Hahaha! It's mine! All mine! And there's nothing anybody can do about it!" The alchemist paused, his back to his new audience. He then stuck one finger up in the air and placed a hand on his hip. "Fuhrer Roy Mustang is the house, ladies and gentlemen!"

Olivier felt her eye twitch and she made to unsheathe her sword, but Falman shoved past her and into the room.

"Colonel Mustang! I knew you could do it!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms around one of Mustang's legs in a show of pure joy. "Now you can transfer me back to Central!"

At that, Mustang turned around. He stared at the assembled group before glancing down and Falman and smirking. "Why, yes I can. The Fuhrer can do anything!"

That just about did it for Olivier. "You are not, Fuhrer, Mustang! I claimed this room first!"

Mustang raised and eyebrow and leaped down from the desk, dislodging Falman's arm from his leg. "Oh, really? I don't happen to see your name or anything…" The Flame Alchemist tilted his head to the side. "If you had left your sword or something of the like, then I would have understood."

Olivier snarled. "I needed that! I was fighting, Mustang!"

"So was I. But I still managed to assure that everyone knew this room was mine." The man turned and elegantly gestured at the front of the desk, where the word 'MUSTANG' was burned into the wood in an elegant script; how Olivier had missed it, she wasn't sure. "And Fullmetal's already bled all over the carpeting, too," he added as an afterthought.

The general glanced down at the floor, where, sure enough, bright splotches of red trailed across the deep green carpet, over to one of the sofas where said blond alchemist was stretched out, still dripping blood.

Fullmetal glared as their eyes met and Olivier had to fight the urge to skewer the brat with her sword- that pleasure was going to be reserved for Mustang.

She finally tore her gaze away from the young alchemist and whirled on Mustang, drawing her sword in one fluid movement. The tip of the weapon was an inch away from the smirking bastard's face when the click on a gun halted Olivier's movement.

To Olivier's right stood Riza Hawkeye, gun drawn and aimed. Behind her, the opening to the sewer stairwell loomed, dark and ominous and Olivier realized that that was how Mustang had managed to get into the office without anyone noticing. The lieutenant's hair was down, her clothes ripped and torn, yet she still managed to look professional while she held a superior officer at gunpoint. She didn't even look the least bit nervous- like staging coups was something she did in her spare time.

Mustang gently pushed the sword out of his face while Olivier seethed at Hawkeye. "Now, now, Armstrong, attacking the Fuhrer is an executable offence," he chided, eyes glinting like he was trying not to laugh; across the room, Fullmetal let out a snort and staggered back to his feet. His eyes were trained on her, and Olivier had been in enough fights to realize that the runt was sizing her up for a scuffle.

Olivier licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder. Buccaneer looked horrible, and she couldn't blame him- getting sliced by Bradley had taken a toll on the solider. The Homunculus looked bored and was tapping his foot impatiently; Alex was just as beaten as she was and in no position to fight. Not that he would- her brother had a tendency to be softhearted and she seriously doubted he would fight against Mustang.

Besides, there were two alchemists and a sniper in the room. She didn't really stand a chance, did she?

Slowly, she lowered her sword and slid it back into its sheathe. Alex looked worried at her sudden silence, but he didn't stop her as she stepped forward, shoving her face into Mustang's. "Fine, Mustang," she snarled. "You may have won this battle, but the war is _far _from over."

Mustang's smirk deepened. "Oh, I would hope that this isn't over. That would be far too boring," he replied.

She gave the alchemist one final glare before turning on her heel and stalking back out of the room. Buccaneer followed her silently into the hallway; Alex and Greed were still in the room, talking with Mustang.

At the end of the corridor, Buccaneer finally spoke up. "Why didn't you fight him?" he asked quietly.

Olivier paused before turning around to face her subordinate. "Look at us, Buccaneer. We're in horrible shape."

"They were no better off. And we outnumbered them."

She ground her teeth together in frustration. "Mustang and his sniper could have taken us out before we took another step. And I doubt Alex or the Homunculus would have helped us."

The soldier made no response, and the Major General took that as acceptance.

By that point, a handful of Briggs soldiers had clustered around them and undoubtedly picked up on the unspoken fact that Olivier had _not _managed to snag the Fuhrer's seat.

Then she smirked and clapped Buccaneer on the arm. "But it doesn't matter. I wouldn't want to sit at that desk anyway."

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Why?"

"It's really such an easily-sniped spot, you know," she replied before strolling through the door and out of sight.

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**Hehe, I loved that line. But I'm guessing the stairs the Armstrongs saw were the ones that lead down to Father's lair, which is where Ed and Mustang are. The rational part of my brain says either Olivier or Grumman will take over, not Mustang, but I can see Mustang snatching the spot anyway.**


End file.
